


Cotard's

by bunnybrook



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cotard's Syndrome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybrook/pseuds/bunnybrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty is a dead little boy and he knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cotard's

Morty Smith is a deal little boy and he knows it. Everyone knows it. He had to use bleach to clean the blood stains from the concrete in the garage and had to wear gloves as he carried himself into the backyard.

“It’s alright,” Rick kept saying, as if that meant anything to Morty as he stared into his own dead eyes. Rick cared about him and he knew it but what was there to care about after your heart stops and your head is blown off? What is there to care about when your eyeballs are hanging out of your head Morty’s hands shook with effort and fear as he shoveled dirt over the corpse.

Inside, his parents were fighting over the groceries. About milk. He could barely hear them but his dad’s hands were balled into fists and his mother’s shoulders were heaving with the way she screamed. He wanted to sleep forever. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way the corpse’s spine twisted, how his leg hung at an angle. They didn’t even notice him as he left the kitchen.

Summer looked the same. On TV the same shows she watched every afternoon were playing. This was an entirely different reality.

“I’m going to bed,” Morty said, standing and walking away.

“It’s only, like, eight,” Summer said after him, then shrugged and went back to her phone.

Morty looked at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out if he was flesh and blood or just plastic. He knew dissociation and he knew delusion. He knew them both well but this was nothing like either of those things. He touched his face, stretched his lips back to stare at his teeth. Downstairs, mom and dad were still yelling, something like the eternal hum of the universe that lulled people to sleep at night.

As Morty lay in the darkness of his bedroom he could feel the earth above him, around him. He hadn’t even bothered to find his box a cardboard coffin, just threw it in the dirt like it was roadkill. Less than that. A dead pet.

He didn’t sleep well. Morty felt the soil in his lungs, the way his blood would make the grass die. After that he would rot and rot and eventually, he’d be something good for the garden. Maybe a bush would grow over him. It’s better than a gravestone, something less lifeless than he was.

Morty closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way worms were starting to eat at his skin, crawling inside his ears and munching on his useless brain.


End file.
